


i wish (that i could sing like that)

by potato_writes



Series: i'm standing right here on (jaime's) side [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Quasi-Ocean's Eleven AU, the horniness in this part is at level 100, they're at a bar but no one is drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potato_writes/pseuds/potato_writes
Summary: The bar is dark and smoky and crowded, the perfect escape after a stress-filled day of wrangling a team of eleven people who barely know each other and still don’t get along all that well. It’s vastly different from any of her usual haunts in this area of King’s Landing, which is why Brienne doesn’t hesitate to slide into a seat at the bar and flag down the bartender to order a cider—she may be irritated and exhausted, but she’s not going to risk getting drunk, not when there’s so much to deal with.*trying to escape her teammates, brienne encounters jaime lannister at a bar.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: i'm standing right here on (jaime's) side [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956802
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	i wish (that i could sing like that)

**Author's Note:**

> well, I haven't fried my brain yet, so here we are. this instalment is definitely the horniest instalment so far, though I don't think that's a bad thing. brienne disagrees, but she worries too much. 
> 
> this is the second part if we're going in chronological order, taking place couple weeks after part 4. for some reason, I have very little to say about this part, but I like it, so I hope you do too.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy!

The bar is dark and smoky and crowded, the perfect escape after a stress-filled day of wrangling a team of eleven people who barely know each other and still don’t get along all that well. It’s vastly different from any of her usual haunts in this area of King’s Landing, which is why Brienne doesn’t hesitate to slide into a seat at the bar and flag down the bartender to order a cider—she may be irritated and exhausted, but she’s not going to risk getting drunk, not when there’s so much to deal with. 

Part of her feels guilty for walking out and leaving Margaery and Arianne to deal with the argument between Jeyne and Jeyne, but she’s tired of being the responsible one, tired of always taking on the load when no one else will. And it might do the others some good to realize she won’t always be there for them to rely on. They’ve been doing so too much, and she knows it’s still early days, but they’re going to have to take charge at some point. It can’t all be on her or Margaery or Arianne.

She sighs heavily and takes a long swig of her cider, letting the crisp liquid wash down her throat and wipe away the day’s stresses. Perhaps walking out wasn’t the most mature decision, but she’s earned a break, dammit. Why should she keep wasting her time futilely trying to solve arguments when those involved aren’t willing to hear her out just yet?

When the man sits down beside her, she ignores him, letting her gaze drift up to the TV above the bar, where the end of some sports game is playing out. He doesn’t bother her, at least not right away, instead calling over the bartender to order a beer—not that she’s listening in, but he _is_ right next to her, and he’s not speaking that quietly.

The image on the screen changes to a panel of commentators discussing the events of the game, and she looks down at her phone, which has finally stopped blowing up with texts from Margaery. The most recent message only consists of a frowning emoji, and she sighs again before shutting her phone off and shoving it into her coat pocket, determined to ignore it for the rest of the evening.

“Long day?” the man next to her asks, his voice low and amused, rumbling deep and mesmerizing in her ear, and she turns in his direction, and— _holy shit_.

Her neighbour raises an eyebrow patiently as she chokes on her drink, giving her time to recover from whatever it is that set her off. Which really doesn’t help her any, because gods, he’s handsome, all golden skin and brilliant green eyes and sharp-planed features that look as if they’ve been chiseled from stone because there’s _no way_ any human looks that good. He’s also vaguely familiar, but she brushes that aside. If she’d met him before, she’d _definitely_ remember it.

“Yeah,” she mumbles once her coughing fit subsides, wiping at her mouth. “You could say that.”

He smiles, sharp and cutting, yet there’s the slightest soft edge to it, hidden beneath a layer of what she presumes is snark and general assholery. “Want to talk about it? I’ve heard people at bars are the best to share your woes with, mainly because half of them won’t remember it come morning.”

“I don’t think you’re nearly drunk enough for that,” she tells him, because he most certainly isn’t. His eyes are too clear, his posture too steady, and he’s had maybe one sip of his beer in the entire time they’ve been next to each other. Not that she’s been paying any attention, of course.

“Try me,” he says, his voice dropping even lower somehow, and there’s a curl of heat deep in her belly at the sound.

“I’m working with a team on this project,” she says, keeping the details as vague as possible. “And most of us haven’t worked together before, and it’s frustrating, because we have to spend all this time figuring each other out rather than actually doing the job we’re supposed to be doing.”

None of it’s a lie, though it’s probably more than she should be telling a stranger, even one as extraordinarily handsome as this one is. But it feels so _good_ to express her exasperation to someone who isn’t on the team, and she’s really spent too much time cooped up with the others anyways. It’s nice to actually get out and talk to someone, knowing at the end of the day it won’t matter, because what are the odds they’ll ever meet again?

He grimaces sympathetically, the expression not marring his beautiful features in the slightest. “Team projects can be the worst. I work with my siblings all the time, and it’s a miracle we haven’t killed each other at this point, because _gods_ , they’re the worst sometimes.”

She laughs, though a part of her aches for her own siblings, long dead and buried by now. “Well, I’m an only child, so I sadly can’t relate. We do have sisters on my team, but they generally get along fairly well. Which is good, because I don’t think I could handle that as well.”

He smiles again, even warmer than before, and his hand stretches out across the bar, reaching towards her in an almost tentative gesture. For a moment she wonders if he’s drunker than she originally thought—but no, he’s not leaning towards her at all, like the drunk guys who hit on her in bars usually do. None of those men would show as much respect for her wishes as her neighbour is right now. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, she reaches out her own hand, letting her fingertips brush against his, and is rewarded for it with another smile, all the sharpness of his first one fading away. “Thank the gods for that, at least,” he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear, and a shiver runs down her spine as his fingers curl around hers, pulling her hand closer until their fingers are threaded together on top of the bar. 

She nods shakily, not trusting her ability to speak as she shifts slightly in her seat, moving just a tiny bit closer to him. He mirrors her actions, and they both slowly shuffle their way closer until their knees bump together in the ever-decreasing space between their bodies.

“I’m Jaime,” he tells her, his voice a soft breath against her cheek. And suddenly she knows exactly where she’s seen him before, and her heart sinks, dropping low in her chest.

The other day, Joy had been explaining which of her cousins worked at the company, complete with pictures that provided far more detail than any of the official company headshots did. Her favourite cousin, she told them with far more warmth than she gave to any of the others, was Jaime Lannister, Tywin’s eldest son and preferred heir—mainly due to his lack of interest in recognizing his daughter’s similarities to his own business practices, but still. Asha had let out a low whistle at the picture Joy used, muttering about how shameful it was for someone so hot to be part of such a shitty family while unabashedly eyeing the man in the photo—the same man now leaning towards her with a look of barely disguised hunger in his eyes, even more painfully handsome in real life then he is in a photo.

She should leave, should get out before she does anything too foolish, but he smiles at her again, tentative and hopeful and earnest, and she knows she’s already lost this battle. There’s no resisting him, not when he’s handsome and considerate and genuinely seems interested in her and what she has to say. It’s far more than she ever expected from a Lannister, especially after hearing Shae’s story.

But Shae and Joy had both said Jaime was the best of his siblings, hadn’t they? And though she’s only been talking to him for a couple minutes, nothing he’s done so far has disproved that to her. Maybe he’s not as bad as the rest. Maybe she can afford to take this risk, to…

To do what, exactly? He’s still a Lannister, no matter how kind or considerate he’s being right now. There’s no chance of anything working out between them, and it doesn’t matter how much she wants, or hopes, or tries, because she’s working to take down his family, and that’s not something he’ll accept or forgive.

She can take tonight, though. There’s still time before the heist, enough for her to flirt with a handsome man for a while, to enjoy the feeling of being wanted before she has to give it up. So she shrugs her worries aside and returns his smile, watches as his shoulders slump in relief at the action.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she tells him, hoping he’ll miss that she didn’t give her own name in return. “Do you come here often, Jaime?”

“Not really,” he responds, his eyes never leaving hers, “but I might if it means I get to see you.”

It’s the sort of swoon-worthy, romantic line she thought people only said in the movies, and if she wasn’t already enchanted by him that would be more than enough to have her falling under his spell. _Beautiful, kind,_ and _romantic? Can he save_ something _for the rest of us?_

“That sounds intriguing,” she murmurs, reaching out for her other hand to place it on his knee. Their drinks are long forgotten, resting beside them, which means she can’t use the excuse of alcohol when she explains this to the others later. “Though I will admit, this isn’t my usual haunt. I just wanted to avoid the rest of my team for a while, and this seemed like the only place they wouldn’t go.”

His free hand stretches out and begins to run up and down her arm, soft fingertips stroking over her skin and leaving a burning trail everywhere they touch. “It seems I got lucky tonight, then, coming here the one night you came in.”

“It seems you did,” she breathes, her heart pounding terrifyingly loud in her chest. She’s never done this before, not really. All her past relationships have been with people she already knows, and they’ve always been intended to last—though of course, none of them did, or else she wouldn’t be here, letting Jaime Lannister move ever closer to her while her hand creeps further and further up his leg.

Gods, Margaery is going to kill her later, but it will absolutely be worth it. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he whispers as he leans in even closer, until his breath is fluttering against her lips and there’s nothing at all between them, and she meets his earnest, questioning gaze and nods once. He still hesitates, though, his hand untwining from hers and rising up to cup her cheek. “Can I kiss you, or is that too forward?”

Oh, _oh_ , he’s going to be the death of her, asking for permission even though she’s practically begging him to make a move, “Go ahead,” she tells him, and then his lips are on hers, and any thoughts flee her mind as their mouths move against each other, as she gasps against him and his tongue slips in to dance with hers, as his hand slides to her back and pulls her close, as she draws her own hand up to cup his neck and pull him even closer, as they surge against each other again and again and again.

 _This is a terrible idea,_ the rational voice in her head says when they draw back, both panting as they stare into each other’s eyes. _He’s a Lannister, and you don’t even know him, and if Marg doesn’t kill you for this the Stark sisters definitely will._ But rationality isn’t about to prevail here, not when he’s taken hold of her hand and tugged her up and out of her seat, not when she’s eagerly following him to a corner table where he pulls two chairs to one side before they sit side by side, their legs pressed together as he draws her in again.

Nothing has ever felt like this before, and she knows already she’s doomed. How can she pull off the heist later on, knowing she’s had Jaime Lannister’s lips on hers, knowing that he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her until she could barely recall her own name, knowing that she pulled him closer and kissed him back just as hard and fierce and passionate, all before they’d so much as properly spoken? How is she going to move against him after this, knowing the taste of his tongue against hers and the feel of his thigh beneath her hand and the gentle way he strokes her cheek as he kisses her again, softer before pressing in?

_The heist. Shit._

She sits back abruptly, startling Jaime, who looks at her with worried eyes. “Are you alright?” he asks, soft and concerned and too much, too much. “Is this too much? I can slow down if you want.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she mumbles, shooting to her feet and looking around for her coat before she remembers it’s still on. “I just...I have to go. I’m sorry, Jaime. I’d love to stay, but I can’t.”

She turns and flees before she can think too much on it, but she knows from the scrape of a chair on the floor that he’s risen as well and is following her to the door. It’s not until she bursts out into the parking lot that he catches up with her, though, their breath freezing in the cold air as he steps in front of her, his eyes shadowed and all too seeing.

“Can I at least get your name?” he asks, one hand reaching out towards her again before it stutters in midair, and she catches it, draws it close before he can pull away, and something like hope flutters in his eyes. “Please? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but I...I’ll be here next week at the same time, if you want to...I don’t know, if you want to see me again? But if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

“Brienne,” she says before she can think better of it. “My name’s Brienne. Brienne Tarth. And I’ll think about it.”

He smiles, a little sadly, his hand stroking over her cheek once more, and she can’t handle it any longer, this is too much, _he’s_ too much…

Before he can say anything else, before she’s able to persuade herself otherwise, she turns and runs off into the night, trying to escape her memories, trying to escape _him_. But she can’t escape, not really, because she can’t stop thinking of his lips against hers, of his soft smiles and his earnest words, of how sad and alone he’d looked in that moment in the parking lot, right as she tore herself away to flee the impossible depths of her own feelings and the terrible, terrible fear that she’s just begun something she won’t be able to undo.

**Author's Note:**

> oh, brienne. it's okay, you'll run into him again soon enough. whether or not that's a good thing remains to be seen. 
> 
> the next part will come. eventually. I have to write it first.


End file.
